Wish You Were Here
by Foibles and Fables
Summary: Mark travels to New York City for a conference, leaving Lexie in Seattle. But technology can easily bridge that gap. Very explicit content, Mark/Lexie.


**This took me _forever._ Thank god I can go back to regularly scheduled projects now. Not that this wasn't fun or anything, though...**

**Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is the property of Shonda Rhimes and ABC. This writing is for entertainment purposes only and is not for profit.  
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Lexie yawned. It was a good one; satisfying, deep, loud, and exaggerated. Her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth opened so wide that her jaw popped quite audibly. After a luxurious stretch, she rested her hands on the parked car's steering wheel. While she absentmindedly tapped a slow, sleepy beat on it with her fingers, she glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. It was 4:27 A.M. Dawn hadn't even broken yet – the murky, navy blue sky was brightened only by the headlights of the car. She didn't cut the lights, nor did she turn the heater off. After all, she was only dropping off.

She relaxed in the warmth of the car, its shell the only defense against the biting pre-dawn Seattle air, until it was 4:31. It was getting late. She addressed her passenger. "You'd better get going." Her voice had a slight rasp to it, velvet roughed with tiredness. She turned her head to look at him, raising her thin, dark eyebrows playfully. Mark grimaced, looking past her and out the window across the expansive Sea-Tac Airport parking lot.

"But it's cold," he complained. "It's cold and way too early." Lexie had to agree with that one. She resisted the urge to moan in exasperation when she realized that she had to be at the hospital in just a few short hours. Mark saw the change in her expression and went with it. "I don't _have_ to go, you know." He gave her his most innocent face, shrugging, but she didn't buy it.

"Oh, no," she said firmly, waving her index finger at him. "You are going to that convention, Mark Sloan." His flight to New York City left in an hour, and then he would be directly on his way to a meeting of the American Society of Plastic Surgery.

"Come on," he whined in an exaggeratedly joking way, trying to ham it up as much as possible. "I go every single year. They can survive without me for one. I mean, I _am_ good, but I'm not Jesus. Close, but not quite." He narrowed his icy blue eyes and smirked cockily.

Lexie teasingly rolled her eyes at his smugness and almost-sacrilege. "Mark, you're the keynote speaker," she reminded him. "Remember? _Identification and Assessment of Psychiatric Disorders in Cosmetic Surgery_," she recited. She would have remembered it word for word even without a photographic memory at her disposal. He had been working on the lecture for months, spending every free moment slaving over it. Books, magazines, clinical studies, and various other pieces of academia were strewn about on every empty surface. A particularly important and thereby large case file, belonging to one Rebecca Pope (who would be known to the attendees only as "Jane Doe"), had found residence on his desk. There he sad and rattled off ideas aloud while she, lying prone on the bed, legs bent at the knee and ankles interlocked, listened and appealed to his muse.

"Probably the most creative title ever," she had joked once, chestnut eyes glinting mischievously. He spun in his chair and mirrored the smug mask.

"Well, I was gonna call it 'Don't Give the Crazy Guy a Facelift,' but that's not very professional _or_ courteous – both of which I'm kind of trying to be." He had stroked his goatee thoughtfully, then, eyes crawling toward the ceiling. "But I'm still thinking of using it as my sign-off line."

She threw a pillow at him and he tossed it back before diving toward the bed, grabbing her, and wrapping his arms around her, making her squeal with surprised mirth.

Lexie begrudgingly pulled herself from the memory, remembering that he was leaving. "It's only one night," she said, reassuring both Mark and herself at the same time. "You'll live. We'll both live."

He stared at her for a moment, taking her in. Her eyes were still puffy with sleep. No makeup. Dressed in pajamas. Sleek hair swept up into a messy bun.

And she was still absolutely stunning.

"Yeah, it's one night," he replied. "One night without this." His eyelids drooped as he leaned over the center console to kiss her, placing one hand on the side of her neck, gently holding her head in place.

She let out a tiny moan before melting into him. He gently tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth and she granted him access to her mouth. She still tasted absolutely incredible, delicious, sweet, deep, and hot. She cupped his cheeks in her hands, eagerly drinking in all that she could, keeping it in the back her mind that this would be all she would get for the next thirty-six hours.

His fingers tangled in the roots of the dark hair at the juncture of her head and neck. They played with a few strands that had fallen out of the bun. He breathed against her lips and she shuddered, sparks assaulting her spine until she was trembling.

But, when she felt his hand skim her breast and then grasp it more fully, she was forced to curb her enthusiasm. She resignedly pushed his face away, earning herself a disappointed expression. She sighed. "Mark Sloan, don't give me that look. If we keep going, we'll be here for a _while _and you'll going miss your flight."

"So?"

"_So_? I'm sorry, _Doctor_ Sloan, but if the future of plastic surgery suffers because of me, I'm not sure I would be able to live with myself." She grinned and he slumped heavily back into his seat, defeated.

He sighed, looking down out of the corner of his eye. "I'm going to miss you," he muttered quietly, like a child being told to apologize for something. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to shout it. On the contrary, he wanted to shout it, if doing so wouldn't have either deafened or scared the shit out of her. But those sentiments were usually left unexpressed by him – always seen as juvenile and clingy – and, frankly, he still felt very uncomfortable saying it. But, no matter how he said it, Lexie knew he meant it. That was more than enough. She contained the urge to screech in delight.

"I know," she replied instead, evenly. "I'll miss you too." Honestly. Fondly.

This time she moved in and placed a kiss on his lips, quick and chaste. "Now get out of my car before I have to kick your ass," she giggled, and he couldn't hold back a smile in return. "Call me when you get there?"

"I will," he promised. "Bye, Lex."

"Bye, Mark. I'll be here when you get back. Unless some other beautiful plastic surgeon sweeps me off my feet in the meantime." Another grin from both of them.

"I don't think you have to worry about that. All of them will be in New York. And by all of them, I mean me."

"Ha, okay."

"Bye, Lex."

"You already said that."

"I know. Just saying it again. Bye."

"Bye, Mark."

He took a deep breath, preparing himself to step into the chilly Seattle morning air, and zipped his bomber jacket. Then, he opened the door and slid out of the car. Hunching his shoulders against the change in temperature, he closed the door and circled around to wrestle his luggage out of the trunk.

He began the trek across the parking lot, rolling his suitcase behind him. Lexie watched him through the window the entire time, folding her arms on top of the steering wheel and resting her head on top. When he was halfway to the door, he turned tentatively over his shoulder – barely a twitch – to get one last look at her. Lexie smirked.

Then, he was gone, through the tinted doors. Engulfed by the bustling travelers; the families with sleeping or screaming children, the businessmen in their suits, and all of the many other faceless strangers. He was probably the only one in that crowd who really mattered to her.

She sat there for a moment more, letting go a tiny sigh. The car seemed a lot more vacant with him not there.

The car clicked into reverse and she backed out of her parking space, headed back to the Archfield to catch another hour or so of sleep before her day really began.

At least she had work to distract her from Mark's absence.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Lexie had been right: Mark was dangerously close to missing his flight's departure. He checked his watch all the way through the check-in line, tapped his foot and sighed through security, and nearly had to jog to the gate listed on his ticket. He didn't even have a few spare minutes to grab a quick airside cappuccino.

_Great start,_ he thought bitterly.

Grumbling, he sat down in one of the terminal's seats. Almost instantly, an announcement crackled over the loudspeaker. A female attendant spoke clearly, "Ladies and gentlemen, Flight 279 to New York City is now ready to begin boarding."

When his section was called, Mark filtered through the line, down the tunnel, and into the plane. Chilled air raised the hair on his arms. The sterile smell hit his nose. A flight attendant greeted him, and he flashed her a half-assed smile. The white noise of the engine filled his mind, making him drowsier than he already was. He found his seat instantly. Sighing deeply, he plopped into it, shifting nearly violently to make himself comfortable.

At least he was in first class.

But, upon further examination of his surroundings, he realized that _damn it_, he was seated in an exit row.

He grimaced and pressed his head into the cushioned headrest, sighing again and shutting his eyes. He remembered to buckle in, then, and swore under his breath before doing so. Then, he turned his cell phone off and finally closed his eyes again.

Much to his surprised pleasure, he fell back to sleep almost immediately, lulled to unconsciousness by the aircraft's hum. He slept through the safety procedure demonstration that nobody watched anyway, takeoff, two and a half hours, two beverage rounds, and three-quarters of the in-flight movie. It was disconcerting to wake up strapped into a seat a mile above the ground, but only until he remembered where he was. For a minute, he sat in awe of the state of incapacitation he had been in for half the duration of the flight. He hadn't slept like that in ages. He stretched his arms, the lone passenger in his row. It felt kind of wonderful.

So, he sat through the rest of the flight with a renewed sense of optimism. Maybe this short trip wouldn't be that bad.

The next three hours went by in increments at a time. Periods of half-watching the end of the movie, leafing through the magazine he got from the seat pouch, staring out the window into the clouds and at the ground below, lit _fasten seatbelt_ signs, and slight turbulence. When he had taken to staring into space in front of him, the captain's voice filled the cabin, letting everyone know that they were about to start their descent to JFK Airport.

After the gut-dropping sloping descent, the plane's landing gear made bumpy, shuddering contact with the runway before smoothing out. The brakes were kicked into overdrive, eventually slowing the plane to a leisurely speed. Again, the captain came over the intercom, announcing that the use of electronic devices, including cell phones, was now permitted. He also instructed that everyone keep their seatbelt fastened until the plane completed its taxi to the gate, but more than a few freed themselves anyway.

Mark had immediately reached for his phone, wrestling it out of his pocket. He pushed the button to turn it on. While he waited for it to boot up, he gazed at the small oval window. His heart instantly warmed, as it did every year on the JFK runway, and the sensation soon radiated through his whole body, inside and out.

Even though all he could really see was tarmac, he was in New York City.

A lot of awful things happened here. A_ lot._

But he still loved this place.

His breathlessly excited reunion with his hometown was suddenly interrupted by the alert tone on his cell. The opening riff of Led Zeppelin's "Heartbreaker" exploded from his phone, impossibly loud for such tiny speakers. Instantly, everyone in the previously silent cabin whipped their heads to look at him, some eyes glaring irritably and some faintly amused; Mark lurched forward in his seat, startled at the sudden noise, before quickly silencing the ringer. As soon as he did, it started up again – another message. After punching the button again, he scratched the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed.

Once he was sure everyone's attention was focused away from him again, he flipped his phone open to check the messages that were waiting for him. Both were from Lexie. He felt a sudden pang of longing but quickly pushed it away. The first was a picture message sent about two hours ago: the sign outside of Seattle Grace.

_Cute_, he thought with a smirk.

The next was an hour-old text message, again from Lexie:

_Scrubbing in on a craniotomy. leave a voicemail if you want. if not, i'll talk to you later._

Under any normal circumstances, Mark wouldn't have called. He would have left it at that and waited for her to call when her surgery was over. But this wasn't normal. Even though he knew she wouldn't answer, he dialed Lexie's number and held his phone to his ear, following the queue down the aisle and out of the plain. His legs were stiff and achy. Just as he expected, it went straight to voicemail. Once he heard the beep, he started to speak, stepping into the vast terminal and onto old familiar territory. "Hey, it's me," he began, headed through the hustle and bustle toward baggage claim with a purpose. He had a tiny window of opportunity to grab his suitcase and book if he wanted to get to the hotel, change his clothes, and head to the convention on time. "I just landed. Headed toward baggage claim right now." He swore in a clipped voice as a kid almost ran into him. "That wasn't at you," he said apologetically, "some kid just barreled right into me. But anyway, I've gotta change into my suit at the hotel and then get to the convention. So, yeah. I'll talk to you soon. Good luck in surgery…I'm sure you'll do great," he added quickly. "Okay. Bye, Lex."

Luckily, it only took a moment for the bags from his flight to arrive, and his was one of the first to be spat out onto the conveyor belt. He snatched it up and booked, sneaking through the large exit, welcoming the blast of fresh air, and into the cab line before the crowd managed to swamp the baggage claim.

During the entire ride from JFK to his hotel, Mark stared out the window in awe like a young child seeing the city for the first time. There was something so special about New York and everything in it. Even though he had lived there for _forever_, it still amazed him. So he stared and stared, ignoring the cabbie and the expletives he had for the jaywalkers, drinking in as much as he could.

His stop at the hotel was a literal whirlwind. He checked in and then flew to his room, ripped his clothes off, shoved himself into his favorite Armani suit and dress shoes, splashed some water on his face, and bolted back out the door. Halfway through his descent to the lobby, he realized he had left his speech and flash drive in his room and promptly dropped quite a loud reactionary _fuck!_, scaring the shit out of the woman with whom he was sharing the elevator. After two more rides, Mark, now fully equipped, hailed a taxi and demanded breathlessly that the driver take him to the convention site, promising a hefty tip if he broke a few laws to get him there quickly.

The cabbie didn't have to think twice.

A heart-stopping, white-knuckled drive left Mark in front of the building that was hosting the convention. He made good on his promise to the cabbie, overpaying grossly. Checking his watch, he walked briskly into the convention center's lobby. Somehow, he was still five minutes ahead of schedule.

After he found the appropriate room, the social festivities began. Handshakes with colleagues and admirers. Tight, back-clapping hugs with old friends, coworkers, and med school companions. Giving short and sweet answers about Derek and Addison. Lavishing excess flattery on the heads of the surgical departments of prestigious hospitals all over the country in vague hopes of an offer.

Not that he would ever take them, of course. It was just nice to feel sought after.

He was engaged in a discussion with the Cleveland Clinic's Chief of Surgery about the older man's latest article when the MC announced that the speeches were about to begin. The buzz of collective chatter died down. The surgeons arranged themselves into the seats in front of a microphoned podium and large projector screen.

Mark took an empty spot in the front row – the presenters' row – next to an uppity-looking, fair-haired woman, about his age. After a moment of inconspicuous glances, he recognized her as Doctor Sonya Pareten: a quasi-well-known plastic surgery from Omaha who was scheduled to speak right before Mark. He didn't bother looking in the program to see what she was speaking about. He gave her a polite nod when she caught him looking at her. She returned it in the slightest way possible. The first speaker, a short but handsome man in his late forties Mark didn't recognize began his speech, and Mark remembered to set the ringer on his phone to vibrate. He shoved it back into his pocket and settled back into his chair, prepared for the mind-and-ass-numbing presentations.

By the time the guy was halfway through his speech on new hair transplant techniques, Mark was far off in La-La Land, not having seen much hair action lately. His mind drifted from this to that to nothing in particular. He hoped he was keeping up the appearance of rapt attention. When, suddenly, he didn't need to pretend; his phone vibrated angrily against his thigh, causing him to jump. Sonya Pareten heard the muffled buzzing and clicked her tongue in quiet disdain. Ignoring her, he grappled frantically for his phone. He pressed the button to quiet it. Lexie was calling. He ignored it and immediately felt horrible for doing so. But he couldn't exactly talk to her now.

So he opened it up and typed a text to her instead, keeping his phone along the side of his thigh to hide it.

_conference started. listening to a speech. can't talk now. sorry_

He held it in his hand this time, heart leaping when he felt it vibrate once, quickly.

_Oh, sorry! no problem…Derek let me use the sucker again!_

His thumb flitted along the keys.

_great. i'm gone for twelve hours and derek's already made a move on you. isn't he married or something?_

Send.

Another moment. Another vibration in his clenched fist.

_Only by post-it. haha. hey, I want to show you something :)_

A picture message followed it almost immediately. His eyes swept from side to side before he opened it.

A picture of the on-call room 2 sign. He tried to focus on the good things that happened there, not the sickeningly painful ones. He typed a response.

_derek had better not be behind you._

An answer came in the form of another picture message. The sound of applause hit his ears. What's His Name was done with his speech. Mark put his phone in his lap and clapped distractedly. Sonya was giving him a disapproving glare as she stood and made her way to the podium. He made a mental note that he was next. He needed to focus.

But he also needed to open that message.

Now that the woman next to him was gone and the center aisle was on his other side, he could check his phone less furtively. Throat tingling in anticipation, he opened the message. It was a picture of the small, squeaky bed.

He gulped, feeling himself blush.

A barrage of messages came, then, one after the other. He looked at them in sequence. A picture of Lexie's face, lips pouted, eyes half-lidded and smoldering, shiny hair fanned out behind her on the pillow. A shot from farther away, of her body, wearing a scrub shirt but no bottoms. Her panties were the dark blue lace ones he loved so much. Her hand was over them, cupping herself. His pulse began to race. His thumb slipped as he moved on to the next message. He was deaf to the authoritative mezzo voice speaking about god knew what.

It loaded. Lexie's body again, this time in a matching bra, revealing to him from across the country her smooth, flat stomach. He clenched his jaw, forgetting to breathe for a moment until his lungs screamed for him to inhale. His stomach tightened.

The final picture message was the most blindsiding of all.

Immediately, he had to suppress a gasp of surprise. His eyes widened. Heart pounding, he frantically looked around, going to far as to twist around in his chair both ways to make sure nobody else could see before his eyes were drawn to the screen again. He swore under his breath and ran his hand through his hair.

Lexie's breasts.

There they were. Plain as day. Round, perky, not too big, not too small. A perfect handful for Mark. The soft rose color of her nipples came across really well on the phone's camera, Mark noted.

God, so _hot_.

He couldn't make his thumb press clear. He couldn't even move his thumb at _all_. Her boobs were hypnotizing.

For a while, Mark gazed at his phone in a comical staring contest with Lexie's breasts. Neither had blinked yet. He could just see her now: wearing a satisfied smirk at his predicament. For a fleeting moment, it brought on a feeling of yearning. He wanted to see it happen in person, like he usually did.

But those feelings promptly gave way to lust. The visual stimulation sparked the other senses. He could smell her skin above the room's air conditioning – peach body wash. He felt the imprint of her breasts in his palms; her nipples, too, the softest things he had ever felt before they hardened with a brush of his fingers. He tasted them, sweet with a hint of salt. The tip of his tongue danced on them, circling the underside of an erect nipple.

Before long, the intoxicating thoughts circulating in his head culminated in a familiar dull throb in his groin. _Shit_, he thought, shifting his legs awkwardly as a bulge began to form in the crotch of his pants, holding back the half-erection that was growing. With every passing second, he was getting harder and harder, pants getting tighter ad tighter. A combination of dread and a need for release twisted around each other in the pit of his stomach. Sweat broke out on his forehead. The throbbing turned from dull to very acute, penis tingling as it pressed against the inside of his clothes.

He spoke next. He needed to control this problem before then. It was sixth grade math class all over again, before he had mastered his equipment. It happened to Derek more often than it happened to him, the mortified expression and the squeaky excuse as to why he couldn't put the problem up on the blackboard.

Mark shoved his hands into his pockets, maneuvering his now-full erection down into the left leg of his pants. He grimaced when he inspected his work. In jeans, it might have been passable. Not in dress pants. He couldn't exactly stand at the podium with a massive, obvious, uncomfortable bulge in the inside of his thigh.

There was no hiding it. It would have to disappear entirely.

He decided that taking his mind off of it would work. He would listen to Doctor Pareten's speech. From their interactions so far, Mark knew she could probably kill a perfectly good erection in no time. Optimistically, he opened the program to see what the topic of her speech was.

He nearly groaned aloud.

_Breast Implants and Reconstructive Surgery after Breastfeeding_.

The giant diagram on the projector screen behind her head was _not_ helping.

He resorted to an old cliché. A mantra struck up in his head. Cold showers. Cold showers. Showers. Hot showers. A hot shower with Lexie. A hot, steamy, slippery, soapy shower with Lexie. He gritted his teeth in frustration and tried to focus on another age-old remedy.

Baseball scores. Baseball scores. Yankees scores. The Yankees. Derek Jeter. His Jeter jersey. That one time Lexie distracted him from the game by wearing said jersey and absolutely nothing else. He sighed in despair.

Why did _everything_ suddenly relate to having sex with Lexie?

He realized, then, that this problem wasn't going to solve itself. He would have to take care of it. He couldn't whip it out and rub one out at that moment (if he didn't want to be arrested, at least), so he had one other option: pain.

He sighed begrudgingly and crossed his arms, pinching the very sensitive skin of the inside of his left elbow. He pinched hard, using his nail, until his eyes watered and his nostrils burned. He hoped this would work. He hoped he wouldn't have to do a serious speech with red eyes, a bleeding elbow, and a raging boner.

Luckily, his excitement died down completely just as Sonya finished her speech. The announcer introduced him. Walking to the podium confidently amidst the applause of his peers, he smiled coolly to himself. It threatened to become goofy, but he contained it.

For how sweet she was, _god_ could Lexie Grey be devilish.

(and, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, _god_ did he miss her)

---------------------------------------------------

Mark nearly praised the heavens after his speech. He was eloquent, clear, engaging, and, best of all, remained _completely_ limp throughout the whole thing. The audience gazed at him in awe when he was done before breaking into thunderous applause. He tried not to smirk conceitedly as he made his way back to his seat. He received an impressed nod from the Cleveland Clinic's Chief. In return, he clicked his tongue and pointed his fingers at the man, thumbs extended upward, grinning. The Chief laughed heartily. Mark couldn't hold that smirk back anymore.

He was on _fire_.

After his turn at the podium, the rest of the convention went quickly. The speakers after him were interesting (not as interesting as _him_, of course) and had topics that held his attention. The onslaught of information all but kept Lexie's picture messages from his mind. By the time the last doctor was done, the notepad he had brought was full of scribbled breakthroughs, thoughts, and ideas. As he flipped through the pages, skimming all of the stuff he had picked up, he wondered why he didn't want to come in the first place.

The closing was brief and everyone stood, stretching or cracking various body parts. Mark was headed for the lobby, ready to get back for the hotel, when a familiar face materialized in the sea of suits and skirts. It was Freddy Mihalko, a former classmate and friend of Mark's who had graduated from Columbia a year after him, waving enthusiastically. He shouldered his way through the crowd, considerably shorter than most, toward Mark. He still looked the same as he did all those years ago: charmingly messy black hair, delicate ears, and hazel eyes that squinted behind small glasses when he smiled.

"Well if it isn't Marcus Sloan," he said in a raspy voice when he finally got to Mark. Back in medical school, he had constantly called him Marcus, even though it wasn't Mark's name. I like Marcus better, he had reasoned humorously.

"Milko," Mark greeted, firing off an old nickname, grasping and shaking the smaller man's hand firmly.

Freddy congratulated him on his speech, to which Mark replied with a humble "well, you know." Then he asked about Derek and Addison, and Mark gave the responses he had been giving everyone all night: "Addison's with a private practice in Los Angeles. Derek's doing well. Remarried." He didn't go into the legality of Post-It Notes. Nobody would understand. "Probably going to become chief soon."

"Ah, good for them," Freddy sighed, proud of his comrades. "How about yourself, man? You open a practice yet? Got a lady?"

"No, I'm still with Seattle Grace. Teaching hospital, you know. I'm a guru."

"I'm sure. That's great. You didn't answer me about the lady."

Mark rolled his eyes jokingly. "Yeah," he told him, cheeks lighting and hating himself for it. "I guess I kinda do have one."

Mihalko just grinned in return, eyes squinting, holding his tongue between his teeth. "You have to come get a few drinks with me," he implored, taking hold of Mark's bicep. "We've got some major catching up to do. Like this." He held up his left hand and pointed to his ring finger and the gold band that was on it. Mark laughed hysterically for a moment before Freddy's deadpan sobered him. "Besides, a few people who are coming to the bar are absolutely _dying_ to meet you. I said I knew you and they begged for me to get you to come." He backtracked at Mark's leery expression. "Not women. Except Sonya, if she counts. I don't think she does. But, yeah. No women, unless you _want_ some women. I'm more than happy to oblige."

"You are a disgusting man," Mark replied, all the while smiling. He was torn for a moment, though, before eventually giving in. "Yeah, why not. I'll come."

He followed Freddy, all jabbering and animated hand gestures, out of the lobby. His hand guiltily brushed over his pocket and the lump his cell phone created in it. Lexie wouldn't mind. He would call her later.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mark didn't get back to his hotel until around midnight. The hours had passed quickly, filled with drink after drink and story after story. Freddy told him about his marriage and all of the sitcom-worthy things that had happened, and Mark relished the revelers with a story about a guy he knew from the hospital who had broken his penis in an on-call room (the physical injuries had healed, but the psychological scar was still definitely there).

The scotch had given him a pleasurable buzz – not so drunk that he was falling all over himself, but drunk enough for noises to begin echoing more than usual. His tie was loosened and the top two buttons of his dress shirt were undone. Without bothering to turn on the lights, he discarded his jacket on the floor, kicked out of his shoes, and rolled up his sleeves. His hotel room was more charming in the dark than it was in the light, completely due to the wall-sized window at the far end that overlooked the city. He walked over to it and placed his hand on the glass. He smiled, and the same warmth that overwhelmed him on the plane returned with a vengeance. It was like he could see every pinprick of light in the Big Apple through the window.

It was then that he remembered to check his phone. He had three missed calls: Lexie, Callie, and Lexie. Guilt washed over him again when he saw Lexie's name. But it was alright. He would call her now. He checked himself when he thought it was midnight and she was already in bed, but then his slightly sluggish mind took the time difference into account. He quickly highlighted her name and pressed send.

It rang for a long time, and his eyes drifted back to the window. He pretended he could pick out the brownstone where Addison and Derek lived. He had to force himself to focus on the sound of the phone.

It clicked as if she had picked up, but there was a very long pause. He narrowed his eyes, tracing his finger along the windowpane. "Lex?"

"_Hey, Mark,_" she answered after a moment. He narrowed his eyes in confusion. Her voice seemed strange somehow. Strained. Expelled on a quick breath of air. "_I thought you had fallen madly in love with another resident at the convention and didn't have the heart to call me._" She was joking, of course; he could tell.

"No way, Lex," he reassured, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. "You've still gotta be the fuckin' hottest girl in the continental United States. Oh, thanks for the pictures, by the way. Everyone at the convention almost had a clue as to how well endowed I am."

She giggled at the sloppiness of his voice, a little wary. "_Mark Sloan, are you drunk?_"

"Not really. A little, maybe. I went out with some old friends and had a few drinks. Told some stories."

"_Fun?_"

"Yeah, it was pretty fun. What are you doing?"

"_Lying under the covers in our bed. Alone._" There was kidding in her voice, so he didn't feel completely awful.

"You sure?"

"_Absolutely positive_."

"Okay." He pulled his tie off and cast it aside. Then, with sudden zeal, he broke out in an eager voice, "God, Lexie, I wish you were here. I love this place. My hotel room is fucking amazing. There's this gigantic window that overlooks the city. It's beautiful. If you were here right now and I wasn't so sure I would break the glass, I would fuck you against it. I'd be able to look over your shoulder and have a great view," he commented teasingly. Despite the joking, the idea was enticing. His thigh tensed in the first stage or arousal. "Bet I'd come a little faster, though. Not sure you'd like that very much."

There was another long pause on the other end and he waited for her to say something. He heard a faint noise in the background, a sigh or a whimper. He bit his lower lip, moving to sit on the bed. "Hey Lex?"

"_Yeah?_" she replied quickly, voice cracking in the middle of the word.

"What exactly are you doing right now?" he asked slowly, although he was sure he already knew the answer.

Another faint sigh. After a painstakingly long time, she answered. "_Something I don't need to do when you're around, that's for sure._"

Instantly, an image of Lexie fingering herself in their bed, back arched, lips parted, and face flushed, rose unbridled to his mind.

"Fuck," he whispered in an involuntarily reaction, rubbing his hand down his face. The temperature in the room had suddenly risen by about a thousand degrees. He heard Lexie laugh breathily before she moaned.

"_It's still not good enough, though_," she admitted. "_I think I still need you. Help me out, Mark. Tell me what you would do to me if you were here right now._" It wasn't just seductive, it was honest, which made Mark's heart quicken for more than one reason.

"Jesus Christ, Lex." So it would be phone sex, then. It had been so long since he had done it last. He clambered up the bed and sat against the headboard, propped up on the pillows. He swapped the phone into his left hand, not being able to resist touching his half-hard piece through his pants.

"_Tell me how you would start._"

"You'd be on your back on the bed," he murmured huskily. "I'd be on top of you, kissing you. No precursor_._ Forceful. Deep. Wet and hot. None of that gentle stuff first, I'd need you _now_. We'd both need it now, fast and hard and dirty." Her breathing picked up on the other end. "We'd already be naked – we would have taken care of that before we even got to the bedroom."

He unbuttoned his crisp shirt the rest of the way, feeling sweat gathering around the collar. The undershirt came too. His entire chest was already glistening. His pants were tented over a very impatient erection. It was amazing that she could do that to him with merely the sound of her voice.

"_That's good,_" she moaned.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed hungrily, imagining his lips on her and her naked flesh against his. His cock twitched, and he groaned in the back of his throat. "Then I'd start to kiss you everywhere. Jaw, neck, ears, everywhere. I'd go for your boobs, next, circling your nipples with my thumbs. Then my tongue."

"_My nails would be dragging down your back_," she added in a hoarse whisper, and he was surprised. He thought he'd be the one doing the dirty talking. He wasn't going to complain, of course. "_I'd be breathing on your neck, buried there, shuddering_."

Mark squeezed his eyes shut at the imagined sensation, gooseflesh spreading from his neck down. He unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, maneuvering them down his legs and around his ankles. There was already a small wet patch in his briefs where pre-cum had begun to leak. He was amazed at how quickly his arousal had progressed. He had thought being away from her for one day, one _single_ day, wouldn't make him this desperate.

Guess he thought wrong.

"Are you wet, Lexie?" he asked throatily.

"_Yes_," she answered, voice wavering, threatening to be overtaken by a whimper instead.

"How wet are you?"

"_I'm _so_ wet_," she replied. "_I wish you were here to see it. To see how much I want you, Mark_."

"My hand would head to there," he continued, visualizing it in his mind, feeling his palm travel down the virtually undetectable swell of her stomach, over a sharp hip bone, and, finally, to her core. "I'd start with my fingertips, barely touching you. Are you touching yourself like that?"

"_Yes._"

"Good. I'd start by swirling your clit, spreading your wetness around," he told her.

"_Mark_," she gasped, unable to hold it in.

"Then once I was done torturing you, I'd slowly insert two fingers, to the second knuckle."

"_I'd dig my nails into your scalp and call you a fucking tease_," she choked desperately. Mark laughed thickly, peeling away his underwear to reveal the erection that was standing proudly between his legs. He was so damn hard that it was resting on his stomach, angled up toward his navel. With his right hand, he splayed his palm all over his chest before it traveled down his tense stomach muscles to tug on the small patch of hair just above his crotch before indulging in two quick strokes. His erection tingled and his balls pounded.

"Fine. I'd oblige you and push them the rest of the way in, crooking them and making you writhe beneath me. Are you close yet?"

"_Yeah, I think,_" she gasped.

"I wouldn't let you come," he commanded, earning himself a whine. "Not yet." He felt blindly in the darkness for the complimentary bottle of lotion that was on the nightstand. Holding the phone between his chin and shoulder, he squirted some into his right hand, rubbing it around itself until it melted into the same consistency of Lexie's juices.

"_How hard are you, Mark?_"

"You have no idea," he replied honestly with a slight chuckle. "It's all your fault, you know. You do this to me."

"_I know, I'm evil and must be stopped. Now on with it_."

"Yes ma'am," he said coolly. "Once you were ready, you'd roll me over, using that kind of assertiveness you surprised me with. You always knew how to do it. You'd position yourself and then take me all at once." He mimicked this with his hand, pushing his fist down around his cock, grasping firmly to imitate her tightness. The slipperiness was just right, and his face contorted with pleasure at the pinpricks radiating from his penis to the rest of his body. His breath hitched.

"_Then we'd move together,_" Lexie took over, her own breath coming harder, and Mark imagined that she had simultaneously inserted more fingers. "_Rolling hips, foreheads pressed together, lips fused._" Mark moved his hand up and down on his shaft in sync with his hips, pretending he was pushing into her again and again. "_Let it go, Mark,_" she told him. She wanted him to lose control, and he knew it.

He heard her moans pick up in speed and frequency, and so did his fist. His left hand cupped his balls while his right began to pump harder, frantically, swirling around the head with every upward stroke. His biceps felt tight and burned but it was a good burn. He opened his mouth and panted heavily, allowing his chin to tilt up and eyes to close. The lotion, his leaking pre-cum, and the heat of his hand created the most amazing slick sensation ever and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

"_Mark, I'm coming_," she cried intensely into his ear from the receiver, pinned between his face and shoulder. She moaned intensely, and he coordinated it with tightening and relaxing his grip on his erection.

That sent him crashing over the edge too. He groaned loudly, hips and ass lifting far off the bed, balls pounding and contracting. Every muscle in his body tightened as he exploded. White-hot ropes shot into the air, coating his penis and hand as he stroked himself all the way through his orgasm. When it was over and the aftershocks had passed, he collapsed back against the pillows, totally worn-out.

"_Mark?_" Lexie's voice was still coming through the phone. "_Are you still there_?"

"Of course," he replied, hoping the sleepy grin on his face was coming across on the phone. "That was fun."

"_Yeah, it was. It was great. Thanks, Mark._" From across the country, he could hear exactly how genuine she was.

"I mean, think about it. Twenty-four hundred miles between us and I can _still_ make you come," he commented with trademark cockiness.

"_Likewise_," she retorted, giggling.

He let a tired laugh go, rolling his head to look out the window again. Some of the lights in the windows had gone out, but most were still burning bright. The moon hung above the buildings, a chalky-white glowing fixture in the dark velvet above. He wondered, for a moment, if she was looking at the same one. He wondered if she was imagining him in bed with her, like he was willing her there, fingers threaded together loosely as they drifted off.

"Lexie," he said quietly, gently.

"_What?_"

"I really do wish you were here."

And, in that moment, he knew that an uncontrollable smile was crawling across her face.

One had definitely found purchase on his.


End file.
